


Bands

by dragonQuill907



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonQuill907/pseuds/dragonQuill907
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it’s regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bands

When Sherlock and John got married, they chose each other’s rings. John picked out a thin band for Sherlock’s, as elegant as the detective himself. He presented John with a ring twice as thick as his own, with the words  _I’d be lost without my blogger_ engraved on the inside. They had both agreed on platinum for the rings, so they matched nicely.

            Sherlock kept his ring immaculately clean. He took it off when he did experiments and started wearing gloves when he was at crime scenes. Otherwise, he wore it constantly, and developed a habit of twisting it around his finger when he was thinking or wandering about in his mind palace. It shone in the sunlight and glittered even in the dark.

            John never took his ring off, not even to clean it.

            This, like almost all things, didn’t escape Sherlock’s notice. He realized it after six months, and it hit him all at once.

            _‘The rest of her jewelry has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there.’_

            Sherlock panicked. Was John not happy? Was he regretting his decision to marry Sherlock? The detective could admit, he definitely wasn’t the best husband. He was quite a handful, too. Maybe John finally grew tired of finding body parts in the fridge, although Sherlock was getting better at labeling them and keeping them in the correct drawers. It couldn’t be the cases he was rethinking, could it? John needed the excitement almost as Sherlock did. Sherlock hadn’t been in a sulk lasting more than three days since they had gotten married, either.

Every time he did, Sherlock would twirl his ring around his finger and remember that John was _his_ and he was _John’s._ That thought alone made him happier than any case could have.

Sherlock wondered if John was second-guessing their marriage because Sherlock was a man. The detective had worried about that fact alone for months after they had gotten together. Surely John would come to his senses and leave him for a woman. Sherlock couldn’t ever give John the things a woman could: lipstick-kisses on John’s neck and the lingering scent of flowery perfume on his pillow. The daunting normalcy of a heterosexual relationship and the domesticity of white-picket fences and two point five children. They couldn’t even have children unless they adopted – he preferred not to think of that, though. Sherlock Holmes was not scared of many things, but the possibility being a bad father terrified him to no end.

He only stopped worrying when John proposed, but maybe he shouldn’t have purged that thought from his mind so quickly.

Sherlock had been twisting his ring furiously, and there was now an angry red mark around his finger. He sighed and glanced around their sitting room. John had put a cup of tea on the table next to the sofa. It had gone cold, and John was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in bed, judging by the moonlight streaming through the window.

That was the thing. John had never stopped taking care of Sherlock. He still made him eat two meals a day – only one while they were on a case – and sleep at least a few hours every night. After Sherlock had stashed a human pancreas in the freezer and forgot about it, John still made him tea and forced him to eat a few biscuits along with it. When Sherlock had accidentally blown up half the kitchen by dropping too much pure sodium in mineral water, John launched into doctor mode. He cleaned Sherlock’s burn marks and smeared ointment on them, explaining to Sherlock the importance of not blowing up their flat next time he decided to do an experiment.

Sherlock trudged to their bedroom – the one that used to be Sherlock’s alone – and climbed silently into bed. John stirred, mumbling.

“You ‘kay?”

“Yes, John, I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

“M’kay. Love you.”

“I love you, John,” Sherlock whispered.

“Sure you’re all right?” John persisted. Even half-asleep, John cared for him. It made Sherlock’s heart wail. What was he doing wrong?

“Are you happy?”

“’M kinda tired right now, love.”

“I meant, with me.”

“Sherlock,” John said, forcing himself awake. “Do you think I’m not happy? What brought that on?”

“John…”

“Every good thing that has ever happened to me, it’s nothing compared to having married you. I am the happiest I’ve ever been, thanks to you. How could you believe differently?”

“Why don’t you clean it?” Sherlock said softly, hesitantly. “Your ring.”

“What? My- oh.” Sherlock could see recognition flicker in John’s cobalt eyes. “Oh. The pink lady. She didn’t- You thought I wasn’t happy? Is that why you were staring into space for the last three hours?”

“Three hours?” Sherlock asked. “I didn’t think I was out of it for that long.”

“Sherlock, no. No, God, no,” John whispered. “I love you so much, Sherlock. I don’t clean it because I- I hate taking it off. I feel like if I take it off, it won’t be real. I’ll wake up. It’ll all have been a dream, and I’ll be left with nothing.”

“John, don’t you know how much you mean to me?” Sherlock whispered back. “You are everything to me. You are essential to… _me_. I’m not me without you. I need you. I’ll always need you.”

“I love you. So much. Too much for your own good.”

John pulled Sherlock to him and tucked dark curls under his chin. He kissed the detective’s temple, squeezing him gently. He ran his hands through his husband’s hair, something that never failed to relax his overrun mind. Sherlock hummed in approval and burrowed closer to John, wrapping his long arms around the doctor’s waist.

“Do we even have jewelry cleaner?”

“I borrowed some from Mrs. Hudson.”

“Borrowed?”

“Yes, I plan on returning it eventually,” Sherlock scoffed.

“I’ll clean it tomorrow, then,” John replied, grinning. “Since yours is purer than a nun’s vocabulary.”

“Don’t ever leave me, John,” Sherlock pleaded quietly.

“Never,” John promised, kissing the top of Sherlock’s curls. “Never.”


End file.
